In the Name of the Father
by NinaRoja
Summary: Spiritual successor to my story "Ascension", when the time comes for Simba to join the Great Kings of the Past, someone must come to lead him there. My Secret Santa gift for DGFone in the My Lion King Christmas exchange.


**MERRY BELATED CHRISTMAS TO DGFONE! :D **

**Yes, my secret Santa offering for the annual MLK gift exchange is uber late (in fact, I'm the last person to submit, I think) but at long last it's finally here! And I come armed with an excuse.**

**I had this fic finished about a week ago, but something spazzy happened to my computer and for some inexplicable reason the entire file was wiped. Gone. It was very frustrating.**

**As any writer who has experienced something similar will know, losing several thousand words/several hours/weeks of work, and trying to work it all again from scratch is very frustrating and very difficult. As a result, I don't think this is as good as my original draft, but I hope you still like it anyway! It's late enough!**

**I know how much you liked my story "Ascension", so this is a sort of spiritual-successor to that. Hope you like it, and happy new year!**

**In the Name of the Father**

The pain in Simba's chest had been troubling him for the longest time. What had started as a dull throbbing after doing something strenuous was now a near-chronic stab each time the old lion did almost anything, whether it was ascending the stone steps to the den or just standing up. He had told Nala about it at the time, but had long since stopped mentioning it, and never told her of how frequently it was now coming. Instead, he would secretly relay the information to Rafiki, seemingly the only person he knew that would understand or know what to do.

Despite this, despite all Rafiki's knowledge of healing and sickness, none of the Shaman's attempts to alleviate the pain seemed to be working, and the journey from Pride Rock, where the elderly King now spent most of his time, to the ancient tree the Mandrill called home was becoming more and more difficult with each trip.

One night, after the tightness was preventing him from sleep, Simba decided he needed to go see him again. Nala lay by his side, fast asleep, and the rest of the den was completely silent. Not wanting to wake her, or anyone else, he slowly, with difficulty, stood up, trying to supress a groan as he raised his aging body from the ground. When nobody around him moved, he began slowly, noiselessly, walking out of the den.

The king stepped out into the cold, night air, a far-cry from the warmth of the cave he had just left. He briefly gazed out at the kingdom, stretching up to the horizon and disappearing. Everything was in complete darkness. Since childhood he had wondered if the "everything the light touches" mantra still counted when the light really wasn't touching anything. He smiled to himself for a moment, fondly remembering cubhood innocence. He was abruptly torn away from this thought when another surge of pain coursed through him. He had no time to lose. With as much haste as he was able, he set off in the direction of Rafiki's tree.

There was another distraction to come. Simba had barely reached the bottom of the stone steps when a noise set him off into high-alert.

"Where on Earth are you going?"

The unexpected noise made him jump, whirling around (causing his joints a considerable amount of pain) and unsheathing his claws, his broken, yellowing teeth bared in a snarl.

"Woah, woah! Take it easy, it's me!"

It was Kovu. Perhaps Simba hadn't been as subtle as he had thought. However, he let the tension within him settle at the sight of a familiar face.

"You scared me, that's all," he said, relaxing his muscles, causing the ache in his limbs to start to dissapate. He felt a cough rise within him, and explode outwards. It was so loud it was probably audible from quite a distance away, much louder than any roar Simba had been able to muster lately. Kovu looked incredibly concerned.

"I'll ask again, where in Aiheu's name are you going? From the sounds of things you shouldn't be going anywhere."

"I'm going to Rafiki's," Simba wheezed, "it's come back again."

"Again? For gods' sakes, Simba, are you trying to kill yourself?"

Ignoring the younger lion's brash words, he gritted his teeth and continued.

"It'll be fine, it always is."

"You keep saying that," Kovu replied, not backing down that easily, "but it's not going away."

There was a small pause.

"Do you want me to go for you? I can get Rafiki to come to you, maybe then it would - "

"No!" Simba blurted out, not meaning to sound quite so angry, "I'm going. Let me go, Kovu. For gods' sakes at least let me do one thing for myself..."

Seeing the taken-aback look on the other lion's face, the King let his features soften.

"I'm... sorry. It's just that I feel so... useless these days."

He let out a long sigh.

"What kind of a King am I?"

"You're just getting older," Kovu reminded him, "nothing wrong with that."

Simba nodded, somewhat sadly. He really was getting on now. He had lost count of the number of moons that had passed him by, it had been that many. In a way, he felt like he had taken it all for granted. There was always another one coming, and yet now, he wasn't so sure. He was all too aware that each week, each day, gods, even each hour could be his last.

"I still think you should take it easy," the younger lion's voice brought him abruptly out of his thoughts, "stay here, let me go. I don't mind, honestly."

Simba smiled slightly, though he may have still been wincing from the pain. It was so uplifting to see that Kovu had inherited none of his mother's brutality or cruel tendencies. When his time eventually came, he felt no doubt that the Kingdom, his home, would be in good hands.

"Thank you, Kovu," he said, slowly, "I think you're right..."

He gazed out into the night-horizon once more, and couldn't help but feel so drawn into it. He just felt so... free. The thought of being out in the darkness, silhouetted against the endless sky, was just so irresistible.

"... but... just one more time."

He took note of the concern still etched into his face.

"I promise, this is the last time I'll go. You're right, I am getting older. I can't do everything I used to... but just give me one last try."

"I don't think this is such a good-"

"Trust me. It'll be fine! I always am."

"But you already said that-"

He didn't want to be dissuaded from going, so he quickly turned before Kovu could say another word. Leaving his companion behind, he set off into the darkness, at as quick a pace as he was able. The other lion merely watched, wondering if he had just set his own death sentence. He couldn't dodge the bullet forever.

Simba's bones creaked and his muscles seemed to groan with each step, but he was determined that his last night out in the Pride Lands wasn't going to be tainted by the pain in his body. So many memories had been made on these plains for him, both good and bad, and they had all started to flood back to him now that this was potentially the last time he was ever going to see them. But, he couldn't help but wonder, what lay ahead now? Of all the milestones in his life, growing up, becoming King, becoming a parent, death was the only one he had never considered before. It had always seemed so impossibly far away. And yet, now, it was nearer than ever. He was probably going to spend the rest of the days he had left lying in the den, just waiting for it to come.

It was a hard concept to accept, the immanency of his own death, but there was no denying that Simba was old. He had lived longer than any King that anyone could remember, and very visibly so: He looked physically battered: his fur was unkempt looking (despite Nala's best efforts to help him) and greying. His thick mane was now dull and limp on his shoulders, and the scars that covered his body were numerous: badges of honour for many battles fought and won.

After a while (much longer than usual) Rafiki's tree was visible in the near distance. The lion felt relief wash over him - this journey had been the most taxing of them all. By the time he reached the bottom of the vast tree trunk that the mandrill called home, he was practically crawling. Simba slumped to the savannah floor, breathing deeply, clenching his teeth as the ache spread through his chest, his claws digging into the ground and leaving score-marks in the earth. It was becoming almost unbearable, more intense and painful than it had ever been.

"_Ra..fi…ki…" _the lion spluttered, great heaving breaths between each syllable, praying to the gods that he would hear him.

When no one came, he began to get more agitated, which only made the searing agony surrounding his heart worse.

"_Rafiki!_" he choked, "RAFIKI!"

His chest tightening, his limbs aching, panic spreading through him like wildfire, he struggled to his feet, crying out like a cub cries for its mother.

"RA-"

Before he could let the name out, with an almighty choked cough, a great spatter of his own blood rose from within him, staining his forelegs and the ground he stood on.

"_Oh, gods," _he thought, _"help me!" _

Another choke yielded the same result, and there was no stopping it – his mouth and nostrils were caked in blood as more and more came up. Simba's head pounded, his eyes streamed from the coughing and his body was slowly but surely being starved of the oxygen it was so desperately rasping for.

"Help!" he wheezed, as another ripple of agony coursed through his body, bringing more blood with it, "somebody!"

So much blood, and it wasn't stopping. So much so that he couldn't get it out fast enough: it began to flow back the way it came, getting trapped in Simba's throat, only making the situation worse. He could barely talk – he couldn't breathe, yet he still mustered another cry.

"Anybody!"

Despite the pain that had taken over everything, the last three words set off a horrifying display in the King's mind. The pressure in his head mounting tenfold, he was dully aware of himself toppling to the ground as his legs finally buckled beneath him. He didn't care about that, though: his every horrific moment was replaying itself, more intense than he had ever recalled them before. The mingled pounding of thousands of hooves and the laughter of hyenas roared in his ears. His eyes were screwed tightly shut but the image of his father tumbling through the air towards his doom bored into his conscience.

_No!_

Had he been less dazed he would have found himself crying aloud (albeit raspingly, under the circumstances)

_Simba… what have you done?_

"_NO!" _

It wouldn't stop – it was a cruel loop playing over and over, louder and louder. Finally, his father's voice roared into his head, a sample of the nightmares Simba had endured since cubhood…

"_Simba! Simba!" _

"Dad!" he cried aloud, the worst of all hitting him like a boulder, "Dad, I'm sorry!"

He was all out sobbing now, having a seemingly out-of-body experience: the physical pain was gone, replaced instead by overwhelming anguish as the King surely took his final breaths…

"_Simba! SIMBA!"_

"_Simba…" _

The choking had ceased, the tightness was gone, and all that remained was calm. At the sound of his name, the lion rose his head, with much more ease than he had felt in several years. He could feel the energy of youth coursing through his veins, just as it had so long ago.

Looking around, he could he could see that he was still where he had fallen. Rafiki's tree loomed before him, but the old mandrill was nowhere to be seen. Figuring that his ailment had at last passed, and that there was no need to bother him now, he stood up without difficulty and made to head back to Pride Rock, a peaceful night's sleep on his mind. Strength rippling through his muscles once more, he briefly took note of the strangely ethereal atmosphere that had descended since he had blacked out. It was rather strange: in all his living memory the savannah had never felt like this... in fact, he could only remember feeling this way when his father had -

He didn't want to think about that. It was too painful, even after so much time had passed. He must be dreaming now, musn't he? There was no other logical explanation...

He was still thinking this as he turned around, but before he could think anything else, he had let out a cry and flattened himself to the ground in shock. He screwed his eyes shut, as tightly as possible. He couldn't bear to look at it...

...His father stood before him, and there was no doubt that this was not a dream. It couldn't be. He was not a formation in the clouds above his head. He was just... _there. _ A physical presence, perfectly in proportion, seemingly lighting up his surroundings by merely standing there. The presence he was feeling right now... his father was truly here - this was no ghost. There was no other way to possibly explain it. It was the one thing Simba had yearned to see for so long, but now that it was actually happening, he was all-out panicking.

Still burying his head in his paws, Simba was dully aware of pawsteps approaching him. He didn't look up, though. He couldn't. He was just so terrified.

"It's ok, son,"

The sound of his father's voice, all at once commanding and yet still steeped in gentleness, only made things worse, like a sharp rock tearing tearing right through him.

"Please don't..." Simba whispered, sounding barely more than a cub.

Had his eyes been open he would have seen Mufasa's face cloud with confusion.

"Don't what?"

"You... you can't be here... it's impossible."

"And yet... here I am."

He was still smiling at a son that refused to look at him.

"Look at me, Simba."

The lion on the ground shook his head, still shielding his vision.

"... I can't."

His voice was cracking, and barely audible, but still he wouldn't look up. Mufasa, in all his patience, sat down, and continued.

"And why not?"

"Because the last time I saw you properly you were... you were..."

He didn't finish. It was just too horrible and painful to think about, worse than the pain that had plagued his body for the past several moons.

"... and that's how I know this is a dream. This isn't real. The only way you could be here is if I were..."

He stopped, raising his head from the ground, as realisation suddenly dawned on him. He slowly looked to where he had first stood up from, and another gasp rippled through him. He was looking at his own dead body.

In disbelief, he turned to his father, looking at him properly for the first time, the shock of his own mortality now overriding the shock of seeing him again.

"Am I... I...?"

Mufasa merely nodded back at him, and Simba now understood exactly why he felt so full of energy and vitality all of a sudden: he had passed on to the other side, at last.

The last time Simba had seen his father, he had been staring at his mangled corpse at the bottom of the gorge. Now, he was the exact opposite of how he had been then: he looked as Simba remembered him, young and strong, his fur bright and his mane shining. No marks or scars of any sort remained on his body; he was a complete blank slate.

"That's the funny thing about dying," Mufasa said, "We spend our entire lives thinking about it, fearing it, and then when it eventually happens, it's quicker and easier than falling asleep. Probably faster than anything we did while we were alive."

Simba said nothing. He seemed far too overwhelmed still to do anything.

"I'm glad you're finally looking."

Simba, having stood up properly, shuffled his paws, nervously, and looked away from him again, fixating his gaze on the ground.

"Sorry... it's just hard..." he said, but he didn't sound happy at all.

Mufasa came closer, and sat directly opposite his son.

"I know how you feel," he said, quietly, "it's a hard concept to grasp, your own death."

Simba's face had suddenly clouded with sadness. He shook his head, still drooping.

"But I was meant to die," he murmured, before looking up at his father again, "you weren't."

Mufasa looked solemn.

"What's done is done," he said, simply.

Simba stared at him, in disbelief, his mouth slightly open. A heavy silence had suddenly descended.

"How can you say that? How can you be so forgiving?" he suddenly said, completely askance and scandalised, his eyes still wide, "after everything that he did to you?"

Another slight pause followed, before he murmured, "after everything he did to me..."

An understanding look crossed his father's face, and he slowly nodded.

"I assume by "he" you mean your Uncle," he murmured, " and I know it's difficult for you to understand-"

"He ruined my life, Dad," Simba interrupted, his voice trembling, "I don't _need _to understand."

He looked like he was on the brink of tears.

"People change, Simba. Do you think Scar feels no remorse whatsoever?"

"Why should he?" he spat, "I know his type. I know what they're like. They don't change."

Mufasa took note of the tension that had affirmed itself in his son's body. His claws had come out, and were digging into the Earth beneath their paws, while his lip had curled into a snarl.

"You'd be surprised," he said, not liking how this was going at all.

Another uncomfortable silence followed, before Simba was the one to finally break it.

"Is he there?"

Mufasa, who had looked away, was brought out of his thoughts. He waited a moment before answering.

"Yes, _Scar _is there," he said, slowly. He couldn't help but feel frustrated at Simba's stubborness. He had expected much differently.

"You know, Simba, I've waited a long time for this moment. Years, in fact, and I didn't ever imagine it being like this."

"Sorry to disappoint," Simba said, coldly, "sorry that I'm not so ready and willing to forgive _your murderer _like you are."

"Yes, Simba, _my murderer. _You're acting like he killed you, too! But he didn't. You lived your life in spite of him, and you should be proud of that."

"Oh he tried to, several times, and even still, I lived my life under him. Just because he was dead doesn't mean he went away."

At this, he stood up and began pacing, back and forth, his mind doubtless full of static, as it usually was when he thought about Scar.

"You wouldn't know about that, anyway. You weren't there..."

Mufasa took a step back, slightly shocked that his son had said such a thing, insignificant as it sounded. Simba had stopped pacing, and now sat looking at his dead body, his back turned. This joyous reunion was anything but. Mufasa thought hard about what to say next, trying to savage the situation.

"Do you remember the night you went to the Elephant Graveyard?"

"...like I could forget. And why are you bringing this up? I hate thinking about it."

"Trust me," Mufasa said, "there is a point. Do you remember what I said to you afterwards?"

"You said you were disappointed in me."

"Apart from that."

Simba shook his head, sounding annoyed, "I don't know. You said a lot of things."

"I was hoping you'd remember our last proper conversation together slightly better than that, if I'm honest."

"Well... it was a long time ago."

"Fine, then, I'll help you. I told you that the Great Kings of the Past would always be there to guide you..."

He stopped to see if this had any visible effect.

"...and so would I."

Simba finally looked around again, processing this.

"You say I wasn't there? I was always there. I was there right from the moment I died."

Simba turned fully around, but didn't come closer. He had stopped scowling, at last, and seemed as if he had had some sort of internal revelation.

"And the night I spoke to you? The night you afterwards dismissed as a dream? That really happened, too."

"But," Simba said, slowly, "Rafiki said it was - "

Mufasa chuckled: finally some lightheartedness.

"And you took him seriously?"

Simba laughed quietly, too, but before either of them could say or do anything else he had suddenly stopped again. He was staring past his father now, into the distance, a look of utmost concern on his face.

"What's wrong?" Mufasa asked, before turning around to see for himself.

Two figures were approaching, one male and one female lion. It was Nala and Kovu. It was a sight for his son that Mufasa understood all too well.

"Nala!" Simba exclaimed, rushing towards her.

Nala, however, hurried straight past him, before collapsing beside his body. She buried her face in his mane, deep sobs echoing from within her. Kovu slowly followed, standing beside her, his head hanging low.

"Oh no..." Simba whispered, realising the true extent of his situation, "I can't talk to her?"

Mufasa shook his head.

"Not even once? What about you? You did it for me!"

He sounded so sad, like he hadn't truly realised that he was really gone.

"That was different," he said.

"But how?"

"You truly needed my help then. But Nala doesn't. You've done everything you can for her."

Simba was the one shaking his head now.

"I can't just leave them," he whispered, "not like this. Kovu was right, it was stupid for me to have gone out. It was too much."

His head drooped once more, from the guilt and the shame. Mufasa sat down beside him, watching the scene play out in front of them.

"You said so yourself, Simba, you can't change the past."

His son was still furiously shaking his head, still at a loss for what else to do.

"But just because you can't talk to her, doesn't mean you can't be with her. You still get to do what I've done for you."

Simba stopped drooping, and sat up, paying full attention once more.

"You still get to wait for them. You'll still be able to go for them when their time comes. Nala, Kovu, Kiara..."

He let that sink in for a moment. Simba looked much more at ease with the situation now.

"Just try to do it better than I did, ok?"

They both laughed at that. When they were done, Simba finally let himself flop into his father's mane, their first contact in what felt like hundreds upon hundreds of moons.

"I know I didn't show it properly," Simba said, "but it's great to see you."

He broke away, and looked him square in the eyes, finally confident enough to do so.

"It's all I've wanted for years," he added.

Mufasa smiled, "it's all I've wanted for years, too."

Silence fell once more, but this time it felt perfectly natural. They sat together, quietly, watching and listening as the scene played out before them. After not too long, Kiara arrived, reacting just as her mother had, eventually leaning on Kovu for support. Rafiki soon came as well, hurrying over as quickly as he was able to.

The two onlooking spirits could do nothing. They were right beside them, but may as well have been thousands of miles away.

"They'll be ok," Mufasa finally said.

Simba didn't reply straight away.

"I know they will."

He felt strange saying it, seeing as they currently definitely weren't ok. It was equally strange, he thought, being able to watch as his family and close friends grieved for him. It wasn't something he ever thought he would get to see.

"Are you ready for the ascension?" the other lion said, eventually.

Simba looked at them one last time. This time, he believed himself: They would be ok without him, even if they didn't think so yet. He looked at each one of them in turn, from Nala, to Kiara, to Kovu, to Rafiki, and finally to himself. His frail, weakened-by-time body was finally gone, leaving the strength of his spirit to break free and manifest itself as he was now - strong, healthy and completley unmarked. He let the feeling, so reminiscent of his youth, soak in for a moment longer.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

And then, nervous as he was, fearful as he was of the unknown that lay ahead, he knew he didn't have to be afraid anymore. His father at his side, just as he had always been, he stepped forward.


End file.
